Remember Our Place
by StellarCompanion
Summary: A piece that focuses on sensations, Hermione and Fred are alone together for the first time in the ten years since she married his brother. They both face unspoken declarations, and unseen pleas for the freedom of their hearts. A/N: This has been posted before, but I lost access to that account, and I have a new chapter for it. Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. I don't own anything hers.
1. Chapter 1: The Decision

The words flow smoothly from quill to parchment as I watch, and I can hear the soft scratching of the quill. The sunlight filters in through the grimy window they hadn't gotten around to washing yet, and turns her hair a soft shade of honey. From my seat on the couch, I can see the determined set of her face and the pursed lips as she contemplates the next sentence. Her eyes are searching the page before a new sentence unfolds at the bottom.

She absentmindedly tucks a stray curl behind her ear, and I notice the soft shape of her hand. Her delicate fingers return to holding the page, and a neat signature is scrawled across the bottom. She bites her lip as she reads it over in her head, and quickly rolls it up to send away.

Her light footsteps are steady as she crosses the room, but her fingers tremble as she ties the letter to a waiting owl. The anxiety leaves her and her shoulders lift as she watches her letter soar to its destination. A great burden is lifted from her when her entire future sails away on the claws of an owl. The great wings unfold in the air, and it slowly becomes a speck in the sky. A sigh is realized when she can no longer see the bird.

Silently I make my way over, and rub the tension from her shoulders. She jumps a little when I approach, but relaxes into my fingers with another sigh.

I want to ease her worries entirely, and have her spend hours in my arms, but it's not my place. It can never by my place to be by her side. I silently slip away as she's lost in thought, and resume my place on the other side of the room. It feels like the other side of the world, and the distance from the woman I love is painful. I can only see her from a distance, and always with the ever-present family member. This is the first time we've been alone in years, and I can't take the silence that builds as she becomes engrossed in her own world.

I take a breath to say her name, but let it out in a sigh as I remember my place. She's my brother's wife. I look at her, my eyes saying everything my lips never will, but she doesn't see.

 _I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will. I wish you had never married him. I wish you had married me instead. I want to steal you away, and make you happy. I will always protect you, Hermione Jean Granger, until my last breath. I can never let you go._

I forced myself to stand up, and step away. I left my heart and my thoughts in that room, on that cold October day.

She shivered as he left, and pulled the oversize sweater tighter around her. His absence pulled at her, and unwound her as a loose thread to a sweater. She wanted to run into his arms and tell him how unhappy her marriage was. She wanted to bury her face in the chest the smelled like cinnamon and family until every row left her mind, and she found peace.

His soft footsteps on the hardwood floor took her heart as he left the room. He paused, and she turned, barely daring to hope. Desperation shone in her eyes as she noticed the ocean blue of his. His breath caught at all the longing in her chocolate eyes, and he restrained a sob. One indecisive step forward, and she looked ready to launch herself into his arms.

The low groan of the board in front of the first step of the staircase made him turn away. They must remember their place.

She knew her husband was on his way up, and was eternally grateful that he showed more restraint than she could. She heard another whisper of bare feet against hard flooring, and he was gone. Only the creak of the top step could force her to compose herself. She picked up a book off the desk, quickly sitting down and opening to the middle.

The soft wool of the large, knit sweater brushed against her arms, but failed to warm her. A chill swept through the hole where he heart had been, and her fingers trembled as she turned the page of the book she held. The soft hush of paper on paper comforted her like no other sound. She rubbed her palms against her legs, both to warm up, and to calm down. The loud, crisp clip of her husband's shoes grated on her ears after the whisper of Fred's departure. The crisp suit felt out of place compared to his faded t-shirt and jeans.

Her husband pressed a rough kiss to her lips, and she felt like an actress playing a part. She didn't want the foreign lips, but she remembered her place. Fred's smooth, gentle kiss played through her mind, and she could not banish it. He had only kissed her once, all those years ago, but she would never forget the smooth caress so different from her husband's. He prattled on loudly about work as she got lost in the memory.

There was soft rain outside the warm study windows, and another oversize sweater kept her warm. A much worn book occupied her thoughts as the light faded. She had just accepted Ron's proposal, and even then she was unsure why. Loneliness pulled at her, and he filled it. He was a warm body to protect and comfort her, but she didn't love him like he loved her.

Thunder crashed, and the lights were flicked on before he was at her side. Fred held her, and she was shaking from fear. Ron knew she was afraid of thunder, but he never came to her. Fred did without fail.

His arms encompassed her yet again, and he locked the door magically as he pressed a kiss to her head. With every crash he would cover her ears, and kiss he forehead. She kept her eyes closed through the storm, and when it finished, a soft sweet kiss was pressed to her lips. His calloused hands were rough against her soft skin, and he look into her eyes.

"I had to. At least once."

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes, and he left without a trace. She unlocked the door, and slept with his scent wafting through her dreams. That was the last time he came to her.


	2. Chapter 2: The Fallout

I keep thinking your name instead of his. It's hard to keep my thoughts in place when the bitter wind slides through the window he left open. You would have closed it. You would have made sure the doors didn't squeak when I tiptoed downstairs for late night tea. You wouldn't have stolen the covers and let the cold wake me at two in the morning.

The cold stone tiles steal the warmth from my toes as I turn on the kettle. A chill settles in my bones. Only tea, or perhaps your arms, can dispel it. For an instant I'm tempted to write you, and let reality fall behind as I curl into your warmth, but it's not my place. Not yet.

Bitterness fills my heart at the thought of going back up to my husband. Husband. The word tastes wrong, like candy with two much sugar. My stomach turns as I realize that's what my life is now. An overly sweet fairy tale, a façade for the audience to mask the real problem; until you peer inside, past the exteriors, past the show, and everything falls apart. The actors play their parts, and play them well, but it's all a bit too forced. The expressions and movements a bit too perfect to be believable.

The whistle of steam fills my ears, and I rush to silence it before it wakes Fre- Ron. Before it wakes Ron. A small tinkle as the cup brushes against the saucer is what draws my focus back to the task at hand. The familiar motions and sounds sooth my worries. Love, loyalty, and family aren't important to tea. Tea is, and will always be, just tea. Never wrong, never immoral, never judging, just tea.

The warm liquid slides down my throat, filling my torso with warmth that spreads to the tips of my fingers. The heat wraps around the icy tendrils in my toes, and seeps through to fill the hole gnawing on my insides.

For a moment, I forget my decision, and the following consequences, and focus on the warmth filling me.

Then doubt crashes in and crushes my soul in its fist. For an instant, I see everything I stand to lose in my happiness, but your face reigns in the last of my doubts.

The last ten years have been a façade. My farce of a marriage has worn down my resilience until my acting has started to slip. My distance from my husband is growing. No one else has noticed, not even him, but you did.

You could see the weariness at the core of my being. You, and your other half, can see just how much this game is costing me. My depression has spiraled out of control, and I was drowning. The fire that burned in my spirit had been worn down, drowned, by the constant pour of rain from my life. The soft pattering on the inside grew louder, more insistent as the years passed, until I was facing a typhoon.

A crash of thunder startled me out of my thoughts, causing the teacup to slip from my hands. The shattering of glass combined with the flash of lightning shook my senses. Fear rippled through my body as another peal of thunder crashed through the house, scattering any train of thought and replacing it with wild fear.

If it weren't for the glass on the floor, I would be curled up, but my shoe-less and wand-less state left me isolated.

As the next crash sounded, a whimper escaped, and warm arms pulled me to him. His unseen wand cleaned up the scattered glass around me.

"Fred." The syllable escaped in a sigh before I had fully processed the body against mine. The build wasn't quite right, and the aroma wasn't the cinnamon I associated with safety, but the pine scent residing in our bathroom.

He stiffened, as did I, and let out a shocked gasp. He shoved me away, and the accusations began.

Any sense of comfort or warmth fled as he flung hateful words at me. I could only nod meekly in acceptance as the storm crashed around the fallout of ten years of deceit.

When the last plate was smashed, and his voice was hoarse from yelling, he finally stormed out, leaving me to deal with the broken aftermath.

Blood smeared across the cold stone, then the wood of the rest of the flooring, and with each step ,pain shot through my body, intensifying the longing for my wand. Shards of broken glass pushed farther into the tender skin of my feet, and I winced.

When I reached the bedroom door, I could barely stand. The needling pain seemed to shoot through my heart as well. You wouldn't have hurt me. Loathing for the man I had wasted by life with shot through me.

Now there was only one place I was welcome. I grabbed my wand, and spun into the familiar discomfort of apparition. The image of his flat was strong in my mind as my entire body was pressed through a tight tube, and I landed with a crack, crying out in pain. Why had I not thought to heal my feet first?

You immediately rush to my side, swinging me up in to your arms and holding me close. Deep circles ringed your eyes, concern in your features. You nudge a plate out of your way as you walk towards the bedroom, and it knocks against a full teacup.

I let you carry me to your bedroom, where you carefully examine my feet. Instead of pulling out the chunks, your wand carefully dissolves them, and I can feel the warmth dripping out of my feet. You summon a bowl, and place it to catch the liquid. My eyes follow you as you get up, and finally crush me in a hug. A tear slips out as my arms slip around you for the first time in years. You pull back to kiss my forehead, and wetness pools in your eyes. You bury your face in my curls, inhaling deeply.

My heart is bursting as the shock of the night wears off. It's over. I'm actually in your arms. The homely scent of cinnamon wraps around my heart, and joy warms me for the first time in far too long. A sudden, blissful laugh burst from me, and pulls my lips upwards in the most genuine smile I've ever felt. I can feel the happiness radiate from you as you realize what this means. All worries about the future fall away in the ecstasy of the moment.

I am yours.


End file.
